


Invisible Hogs

by The_Lowlifes_Back



Series: A Series of Doves and Serpants [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Brotherhood of Steel (Fallout), Butch Deloria is Italian, Butch is best big brother, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Motorcycles, Redheads are a handful, Romance, The Brotherhood of Steel is falling apart lowkey, change my mind, here's a random excuse to give Butch a motorcycle, sure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:20:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26067127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Lowlifes_Back/pseuds/The_Lowlifes_Back
Summary: The job and the blueprints, were for an old bike. A machine he’d seen in plenty of movies growing up in the vault. A motorcycle.This is the story of how a guy inadvertently helped to repair the relationship between an aunt and her rebellious niece.It's also the story, of how Butch Deloria, built the most badass thing, he's ever made.Who knew he had such a gift for putting old crap back together?
Relationships: Butch DeLoria/Female Lone Wanderer, Butch DeLoria/Lone Wanderer
Series: A Series of Doves and Serpants [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1932970
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Invisible Hogs

**Invisible Hogs**

Restoring old tech was something that The Brotherhood of Steel had built their core beliefs on for centuries. Technology was everything to them from The West Coast chapter to The East. The Lone Wanderer’s experiences with The Brotherhood thus far, had been more than amicable. Since Elder Lyons’ death however, things had been more than a bit chaotic in the ranks. It was a very large blow to them as an already segregated branch of the BOS, when Sarah also took a bullet and bit it.

Dealing with The Brotherhood, was a lot harder than it used to be lately. The humanitarian view towards friendly Wastelander’s that Lyons had spread, was starting to come undone in the lower ranks of The Citadel. Thankfully, there was still a handful of the higher ups, who still supported Lyons’ opinions on what The Brotherhood’s responsibilities were. Protecting the people of The Capital Wasteland, was still one of them. The Lone Wanderer’s title as a War Hero still held a lot of weight, even with the dissenters vying to close The Citadel’s doors for good, in search of a better place to recover lost tech.

The year is 2280 and Butch Deloria, is currently pounding on the closed door of The Citadel, screaming into the intercom. “Open up already, **god**! I walked all the way here! What the hell! Why’s the gate shut?!” The voice of a less than sympathetic Knight, crackles to life. “If you don’t get your GOD damned hands off my door, you’re getting a bullet in the skull, Wastelander!” The Citadel stands tall and imposing, truly a testament to its design. The way Butch continued to pound on the door, was a testament to how much he truly did not give a damn. “It’s BUTCH DELORIA you Butt-Head! Go run to your mommy and tell her to open up!” The intercom’s crackle is almost as snide and sarcastic as the tone which follows it, somehow. “Oh? THE Butch Deloria? Get your dumbass out of here! The Brotherhood doesn’t have any more time for another dirty Wastelander!”

Butch’s fist freezes mid pound and he looks at the intercom, like it’s a baby radroach crawling on the wall beside him. He’s decked out in slick black leather armor, the insignia of The Tunnel Snakes etched onto his back and his pauldrons. 2 years out here had shaped him into a genuine article of what a survivor should be, but he was still a Tunnel Snake through and through. He grinds his heavy boot heel into the gravel, looking over his shoulder, he sucks his teeth irritated. He plants his hands on his hips, while taking a deep breath for a quick burst of self-control.

He thinks to himself, _‘Cool it Butch, just get the job done and put some fear into this crap sack Knight.’_ He’s growling like a landmine’s ticking in his gut, ready to blow up. He presses down on the button again with his thumb and uses his stage voice; The King Snake didn’t take shit from anybody. “Gallows’ is gonna be looking for you real soon, if you don’t let me in, you uppity asshole.” There’s a long pause behind the intercom. For good reason. Since the Lyons’ Pride had lost its leadership, the only one who was holding what they stood for together, was the recently appointed Elder Gallows.

The man was a force to be reckoned with, even before all the change in leadership. So, when the Knight goes silent at the mention of the man’s name, Butch is pretty sure it’s out of fear. Butch taps his foot, a little shame creeping into his chest, while he quietly fidgets over the boastful name dropping. Gallows was one scary dude and Butch knew it, the first time he’d met the man. The Brotherhood’s search for tech, used to be the priority around the house and when Lyons had changed the game, by opening the doors for the common people to seek out The Paladin’s help, not everyone was on board.

Short tempers ran in the Deloria’s bloodline from the dawn of time and **this** Deloria was no different. The Brotherhood’s squabbling be damned! Butch jerks his head up to glare at one of the security camera’s lining the upper decks above him. Pressing down on the button again, hard enough to hurt his thumb. “You still there or am I gonna have to climb up these busted up walls of yours?” The same Knight, breathes through the intercom, less than contrite and more than a little suspicious. “…What business do you have with The Brotherhood of Steel?”

This run around is unusual behavior, even for the most old-fashioned Knight. He isn’t just another Wastelander and whoever’s talking, probably knows that. He’d been helping out the Brotherhood on his own time in the last year, so it wasn’t like he was a stranger. He’d shed as much blood for these people as the next guy wearing a robot suit. It’s enough to make Butch pop a blood vessel.

The dust kicks up in the breeze behind him, losing his temper again, yelling at the moron stopping him from doing what he came to do. “TUNNEL SNAKE BUSINESS, DICKWAD!” The Citadel creaks in the breeze, imposing and looming over the Potomac. Butch’s skin is burning under his leather, his closed fist connecting with the door again, after an insultingly long period of silence. Butch had **earned** his keep with the Lyons’ Pride already.

That was mostly thanks to Lone and her influence, vouching for him when he offered his services. Evangeline had been busy out here without him and it still felt too unreal to believe, that the girl was an actual _war hero_. He may have started out riding her coattails and ended up learning everything he knew from her, but all the major caravans could testify, that he was one of the best sniper’s around. He could pluck a molerat out of a dirt pile from a mile away. The skills he’d worked on out here weren’t anything to turn a blind eye to.

Killing people with a decent scope on his rifle, was as easy to him as threading a needle. Thread through the eye, a bullet in the head. He’d gotten close with some of the Pride’s sniper’s along the way and had lost more than a cap or two, trying to out shoot his old acquaintance Knight Captain Dusk. Most of the Pride knew him and it wasn’t like his name wasn’t on the radio right beside The Lone Wanderer’s, because it was. Three-Dog was kind of a weirdo, but the guy had some pretty cool ideas, and had the right one about “fighting the good fight” topside.

This arrogant reception was a direct insult to how hard he had worked to make a name for himself.

So, being well known and being the biggest, toughest asshole around, Butch was deliberately being slighted. The question was why? Actually the question Butch had in his head was, _‘Who the hell does this guy think he is?’_ He’s pounding on the door again, this time not even bothering to use the intercom to scream into. “When I get in there, and uh, you better believe I will, me ‘n you pal! It’s go time!” When the intercom crackles and snaps back to life once more, it’s a very different voice greeting him. “Quit banging, King. It’s Dusk. Chill out! I’m opening the gate.” The Captain’s voice throws him for a loop, but he’s not complaining one bit and more than a little relieved, to hear a friendly voice.

He's stepping back, looking up at the camera’s lens, flipping the birds with both hands high, at whoever the jerk is that’s been staring down doing nothing. The Citadel’s massive door begins to screech and rise, the crane pulling up the rusty metal with questionable speed. The sparks, the smoke, and the size of the door, had been more than enough to make him shit his pants once upon a time. He’d seen this door so many times now, the impressiveness of it, had more than lost its luster. He doesn’t even wait for it to be fully risen, before he ducks his body under it and strides into the courtyard.

The Initiates are in the middle of various training exercises. Some are on the gun range with shaking hands, learning how to hit the broad side of a behemoth. Others are tripping through the tire run, some with grace and some with clumsy determination. In the far left corner, there’s a robotics class being held and Initiates are soldering wires, while listening to the Scribe’s lecture about, “The importance of recovering as many instruction manuals as they can, once they’re out in the field.” The Courtyard is bustling with life and Butch’s arrival goes reasonably unnoticed, because again, it’s not like his face is a brand new one to these guys.

Not bothering to stop in the gateway, Butch walks right in like he owns the place. He tends to do that everywhere he goes, whether it’s a smart thing to do or not. When he spots Knight Captain Dusk’s Power Armor, his mood sweetens a little. Then he hears the older woman chewing out another Knight over by the intercom. He can guess who the unlucky asshole is, that had decided to screw with him.

His boots crunch the gravel aggressively, his chest out and a goading sneer on his mouth. The guy being reamed out, is a familiar face. The Initiates which are closest to the argument are doing a poor job of pretending not to listen. Butch catches a few Knights on the walls above them listening intently and he gets the feeling that they’re itching for excitement. He overhears a little of what Dusk’s saying to her fellow Knight. “-What has crawled up your ass and died this time, Artemis?”

Knight Artemis, used to be a friendly face at one point. He’d claimed to have killed more Super Mutant’s than anyone body else in the Lyons’ Pride, always bragging to the rest of the men in the room. He’d lost many of his friends to both the Enclave AND the Super Mutants, so with Elder Lyons and Sarah dead, the man was at the end of his infinite strength.

He’d been rethinking joining up with The Outcasts since before all the chaos and now, he was leaning towards it closer every day. He had become really vocal about it in the last year too. Artemis was a hulking, mass of muscle and brawn, his hood hiding the dark hair, to match his scowling brows. His voice is hollow and livid, like a cave hiding a rad-scorpion nest inside it. “As of right now, that idiot you just let inside!” Butch took offense to the man’s posture and the nerve of him.

Marching up to the two, he’s pulling his fist back to take a swing at Artemis, having the honor to warn him first. “I warned you, now put ‘em up, Artie!” Knight Artemis looks up in time to catch Butch’s hand in his meaty paw, swerving back on his feet at the heavy impact, because Butch has gotten strong enough to move the man, even in his full power armor. Butch’s smile isn’t reaching his eyes and his legs are aching from a walk, which he hasn’t recovered from. Dusk is yelling something at them in the background, but it gets lost in the sounds of their scuffle. He’s not moved by the wide eyed outrage the older man barks at him with. “-I’ll throw your dirty hide back out right now, _Wastelander._ ”

Artemis’ voice is dripping with wry smugness, threatening to crush Butch’s fist in his power glove. Bones cracking under the strain, Butch isn’t such a stranger to pain that he’ll back down from it immediately. Instead, he holds his ground, with a confused and savage grin. “-Real cute. You forget my name or something, _Tin Man?_ ” Dusk is intimidating when she wants to be, forcing them both to look her way, at her authoritarian tone. “Get yourselves under control or **I** am going to drag you to Gallows, myself. Both of you.” Butch is no stranger to stand offs, but the way Artemis’ eyes seem to fill with hatred, has him snatching his fist out of the man’s closed palm.

He can’t bet on not getting a broken hand this time.

He flexes his fingers at his side, irritated at the way the guy smiles, because Artie knew he’d made his bones crack under the pressure. He wasn’t dumb enough to lose a hand to this creep, not when the guy was on the war path. Searching the man’s sweaty, angry face for an answer to his poor reception, Butch rocks back on his heels. He swerves his head to look over at Dusk on his left, addressing her. “Is that any way to talk to an honorary **knight in shining armor** like me? Where’s the “Thank you”? I didn’t come all the way here for some kind of lover’s spat.” He gives Artemis a sideways glance and the guy’s glaring daggers at him like he pissed in his rations.

He feels like goading Artemis into a fight. Butch knows it isn’t exactly a good strategy or going to win him any approval. In fact, it’s probably going to accomplish the opposite and put him on thin ice with Dusk. His pride won’t let him leave well enough alone however. Butch is quick enough to know what’ll happen if he taunts the guy.

He makes kissing noises at the Knight to try mocking him into lunging. Sure enough, Artemis’s face twists up with disgust and against the Knight’s better judgement, his fists are up and Butch is dancing away, laughing. Butch is more than pleased with the guy’s explosive temper, glad to have gotten his goat. Some Brotherhood Power Armor was either meant for enhanced strength, while other kinds were better for a burst of speed. Butch had already glanced at his VATS screen and determined that he was sporting the slower kind.

Sharp eyes and quick wits came in handy, when you were a vaultie fresh out of the hole.

He’d only become more deadly, now that he had both the guns and the muscle to back himself up. Butch evades the jaw shattering blow, leaping back on his boots and kicking up gravel, just in time for Dusk to snatch Artemis back by the scruff of his Power Armor. She throws him back towards the wall, bellowing at him, as the other Knight stumbles on his feet, panting angrily. “GO COOL OFF, DAMN IT! Take your complaints to the Elder himself and stop running your mouth off at everybody else!” Artemis is full of anger and adrenaline, looking from the grinning Tunnel Snake, to his commanding officer wildly. His shoulders rise and fall with a steadying breath, like he’s coming to terms with something inside himself.

Disregarding Butch, he looks at Dusk right in the face, a shadow of something sorrowful, lurking behind the bitterness in his voice. “It’s because we rely on morons like **him** , that The Brotherhood’s rotting from the inside out…” Raising his voice along with his accusing finger at Dusk, Butch gets a feeling that Artemis was just itching for an excuse to walk away from The Citadel all together. “-The Lyons’ Pride is DEAD, Dusk! It died with Sarah and so did Owen’s reformist agenda right along with her!” Huffing and shaking he pounds his chest, while Dusk stands her ground, gritting her teeth as the self-appointed expert Mutant Slayer vents his frustrations. “Casdin had a pretty damn good point and you **know** it.” The man walks past Dusk and shoves past Butch, catching the Tunnel Snake off guard. The Knight bumps him with his shoulder, sending Butch stumbling a few feet and leaving him with a bruised shoulder.

A bruised ego too. He’s marching after the man, temper flaring like a lit match to a whiskey bottle. “And just where do you think **you’re** going? Hey-“Dusk’s hand falls heavily on his good shoulder, stopping him dead in his tracks and warning him off, with a tone that tells him not to push his luck. “Curb that hot temper, kid, or I **will** kick you out myself. There’s enough hothead’s in these rusted walls as it is without adding one more!” He looks over at the Asian woman’s helmet, her face obscured by it entirely. He shrugs her gloved hand off, glaring at her with his hands on his hips, leaning over her and deciding to pick his battles. “Sure. Fine. Whatever. How about you guys start making sense? Cuz **one of you** reached out to hire me and here I am, getting a boot in my tail just by knocking on your door.”

Dusk’s voice isn’t exactly gentle, but at least it’s not outright hostile coming through her mask. “Things haven’t been making sense for a while, so hell if I know when things are going to settle down. What do you mean **one of us** hired you?” Butch scoffs, bringing up his Pipboy. Evangeline had setup up a few ways for people to contact them. Some of them were exclusively done wirelessly via a forum which could be accessed via Pipboy or Terminal. It was a collaboration of GNR, The Brotherhood, and The Tunnel Snakes.

Besides, after that hot night of lip locking, they really needed to find a way to check up on each other out in the field. Every time he reached out to her and he saw her writing back, it filled him with this upsetting amount of joy. It was an idea they’d all collectively been working on for more than half a year, which got sped up last month. It was about a month ago to the day that she’d kissed him and he was looking forward to getting his hands on her, as soon as he got home. He just wished she’d let him do more than just kissing.

Three-Dog figured out how to transmit data in a way that was like a radio frequency, the Scribes frankenstein-ed a way to make that frequency into letters, and both him and Angie, had worked on the code for a program to receive the messages. A long distance billboard was made, where anyone in The Capital Wasteland who had access to a terminal or a Pipboy, could access the forum. It had made receiving job requests or pleas for help at least 100 times faster. It also encouraged others to answer requests, be them good or heinous. Butch had been browsing the forum one night, bored out of his mind and feeling a little light on caps.

He accesses the Private Post given to him directly by somebody under the pseudonym “r0cky-ROAD”, showing it to The Knight Captain and reading it out to her with a smug expression. _“Dear King Snake, I am contacting you on behalf of The Brotherhood of Steel. I formally request your assistance on an urgent matter which must not be ignored.”_ He rolls his eyes, muttering at how pretentious it sounded. “You guys even write like you have a bunch of tesla coils jammed up your-“Dusk cuts him off with a confused and genuinely curious voice. “-Ain’t nobody working on anything _urgent_ that I know of.” Dusk grabs his arm with her glove, tugging him none too gently, in an overly familiar kind of way. He protests, while she looks the message over. “Woah, watch it will ya?! I want to walk out of here with **both** my arms!”

Dusk’s reading the letter out loud, mumbling more to herself than to him really. “ _…You’ve been sought out because of your prowess with archaic machinery…”_ Unbeknownst to Butch, Dusk’s big dark eyes are looking at him funnily, like she can’t believe the gall of the writer to be such a kiss ass. Butch taps his foot impatiently, while Dusk reads on undisturbed. “… _you’re unparalleled skill…blah, blah, blah…come alone…yada, yada, yada…”_ Butch’s left shoulder’s starting to ache from where Artemis shoved him and his Pipboy, unluckily enough, happens to be attached to that shoulder. He’s tugging at his arm, which is being held firmly in Dusk’s Power Gloved fingers, complaining at her. “Yo, come on, lady! Give my arm back will ya? I need it!”

Dusk takes a minute to comply, but when she does, she’s barking out a terse laugh and giving him some bad news. “Are you pulling my leg, Butch? There’s no WAY that a Knight Captain or a Paladin wrote this!” She snorts, rolling her eyes behind her visor. “…For one thing, I doubt anybody in charge would suck up to you _this_ much.” Butch laughs right back at her, jerking his chin up at her, bantering. “Awe, is that the stench of _jealousy_ I smell?” He scoffs, feeling a little big headed, backing it up with big talk. “-This whole Wasteland’s been calling my name lately! _“Butch! Butch! Butch!”_ I took out a mutie from about 2 clicks away the other day. What’s your record again, Dusk?” Without missing a beat Dusk stands tall, a smile in the older woman’s voice. “Better than yours, Kid. Ask me that again with caps in your hand. Bet on it. I’m still the best sniper in the Pride.”

Butch’s changing the subject tapping on the screen of his Pipboy, eager to get to the bottom of this whole trip. “If one of you _kittens_ didn’t send this, then how about you tell me, why I followed the markers all the way here, huh?” One way to track jobs or work orders, was to follow the signal to the origin of the message. Butch was one of the few people around, who knew what lines to add in, to follow the frequency. He could track Terminals, as well as Pipboy’s to the next state and over, if he had a mind to do so. Dusk doubts his intelligence, shaking her head at him. “Maybe someone’s screwing with you and re-routing the signal? Did you even think about that, Hotshot?”

Butch’s mouth drops, affronted, while he looks her up and down, voice full of bravado. “Who do you think you’re talking to here? Course I thought of that!” He’s scoffing, rolling his eyes at her, as he talks to her casually. “And you know what?” With a few swipes of his thumb, Butch is bringing up his map for her. He looks up at her, patting himself on the back, talking to her smugly. “You’re right!” The gps shows, that the signal on his map **had** been tampered with.

In fact the marker had been set up near Rivet City to start. At first glance that’s what it was telling him, but Butch had learned not to take a job too easily, especially if the phrase _“Come alone.”_ was in the message. He’d actually learned that the hard way after walking into more than a few traps, even in the short amount of time, which the forum had been up and working. So needless to say, he was naturally suspicious and tore the message apart at the interior. He discovered that the real source of the message, was being sent out from The Citadel.

It was like a game to him, trying to break encrypted patterns, learning the truth, while he played around with the code.

Dusk’s head shakes from side to side, staring at the proof and the lines of code jargon. Then suddenly, the woman does a double take from Butch’s map, over towards something far across the courtyard. Dusk’s voice trails off and you can just barely make out the sound of her narrowing eyes, full of suspicion. “Wait a minute… Wait. A. Minute.” Butch’s face falls and his expression is full of boredom, as well as a clear lack of patience. He’s taking his eyes off her and walking away, in the direction of where the marker is, giving up on wasting anymore time, he says as much. “Wait a minute my butt! I’ve been standing out there waiting long enough and I’m done. Butch is done waiting. Think I’m gonna follow this to whoever’s asking for my _god-like skill_ to put broken crap back together!”

He stalks off, as Dusk goes to reach for his arm, barking at him again. “-Get back here and let me get a good look at that map again!” Butch is fast though, too fast for her to catch him. So she ends up following him across the courtyard, while a few curious Initiates look over at them from their stations. At this point, a chime goes off through the P.A. system, signaling lunchtime for all the new and old Initiates alike, the afternoon sun blazing brightly above the Citadel. As the young men and women dispersed, some of them more children than grown adults, Butch was walking right into The Great Hall, with Dusk trailing behind him, telling him to be aware of just where the hell he was going.

The pair find themselves in a part of the Citadel, which looks a lot like an old garage deep below the ground. A hanger really. The massive walls are stacked high with old tech and machines, which The Elder’s had deemed “too archaic” to be useful, ages ago. It was here, among the rows and rows of old cars, tanks, and plane parts, where a makeshift play room had been setup in the far corner. Somebody or a few somebodies, had setup a pool table, a working Jukebox, a couch, and a small living area, complete with a mini-fridge back here.

Dusk takes one look around the place, her arms crossed and she’s torn between disapproval and pride. “Damn…looks like somebody has a _den_ all to themselves.” Butch has had his eyes locked onto his Pipboy screen for the most part, but when he sees an old metal desk, covered in comic books, holotapes and a working terminal against the wall ahead of him, excitement fuels his strides.

He’s dangerously close to skipping to the terminal, giggling to himself out loud. “Oohooo… Lookie at what we got here… JACKPOT!” He’s at the desk, picking up a few of the holo-tapes and discovering, that they’re a bunch of different arcade games. He discovers this, by plugging a few of them into his Pipboy and loading them up. He’s wide eyed with pure interest, jumping a little, when Dusk clears her throat loudly. Wiping the child-like glee off his face as best as he can, he feigns disinterest, very poorly. “Tch, eh… on second thought… these aren’t **that** cool… or useful…”

He shoots a sly look at Dusk, who’s taken to exploring the room for signs of the culprits, who have been illegally taking up space in the old garage. He knows he’s transparent but also thinks he’s got good logic on his side. “…You don’t really **need** any of these, do you? Cuz I could take ‘em off your hands for you.” Dusk’s leaning over the couch, digging in the cushions, answering him and looking a little ridiculous, reaching into the couch in full Power Armor. “Not my call, King.” She grunts pulling a data tablet out of the couch and sighing, like she’s just found a clue and a tiresome answer to all their questions. “…Roxie…Are you kidding me, cub?” No sooner than the words leave her mouth, do the sounds of youthful laughter, come drifting down the way they’d entered.

Butch’s eyes lock with Dusk’s, or at least he thinks they do. It’s hard to tell with that helmet in the way. Regardless, he gets the bright idea to dart behind the couch, motioning for Dusk to follow him. She does not however, instead she opts to stand with her hands on her hips, waiting for the perpetrators to come into view. Down the stairs, laughing, snickering, and kissing, 2 young Initiates come tripping down the stairs with a bottle of whiskey between them.

One is a blonde boy, barely 15, muscular and the other, is a pretty red headed girl, flat chested, and also really muscular. Dusk’s voice is loud and yet so soft, soft in the way impending doom sounds just before striking. “Just what the happy hell’s so damn funny, Initiates?” The boy jumps off of the girl like she’s made of fire, dropping the bottle and the girl startles as well, but doesn’t budge from where she’s standing. The room gets very quiet and Butch can’t really make out much, but he can see 2 different blurs in the shine of an old hubcap, which is sitting across from him amongst the machine rubble. The boy’s the first to speak up, his voice just barely deepening, in the cusp of manhood. “Kn-Knight Captain Dusk!”

Dusk gestures with her hand, to the room around them with a false sense of calm about her. “You two have been REALLY busy! Did you set up aaaall this by yourselves?” Dusk’s hand falls and her voice raises significantly. “-WHO GAVE YOU PERMISSION TO COMMONDERE THIS TECH, YOU MAGGOTS?!” The boy’s vocal chords lock up on him, his voice cracking, eyes watering, looking terrified, and shaking in his robes. “I-I-I-I…aye…oh…I…” The red head however, is glaring at her superior, looking more like a run of the mill Wastelander, sporting an overgrown brown leather jacket with The Brotherhood Symbol on one of the shoulders. Butch rolls his eyes at Dusk’s grandstanding, because he’s seen the overbearing woman wasted before, and she’s pretty gentlehearted with a few shots of tequila running through her.

He's debating getting up or not, when he hears the girl scoff audibly. His eyebrows shoot up, because the girl’s got balls. When she talks back, he’s wondering if she’s stupid though. “What do you care, huh? Nobody uses all this old shit anyway…” Butch grins and has to bite his knuckles not to laugh, when Dusk turns to the boy and roars. “GO RUN HOME TO YOUR MAMA, SCOTT!” The boy’s green eyes widen and when the command registers he turns tail, bolting back up the stairs, sobbing fearfully behind him. “YES MA’M! SORRY MA’M!”

The girl’s unaffected, supposedly. Butch peaks around the corner of the couch to get a decent look at her. She’s a tiny thing, but built like a soldier. He hears her accent when she talks back again and is a little thrown by it, because it’s a lot similar to his. “My mom’s dead. Should I go dig her up?” He’s really digging her leather and she can’t be more than 14, by the look of her.

She’s like a puppy or a kitten.

Dusk’s eerily silent. The hisses and rushes of steam, indicate that Knight Captain Dusk is removing her helmet. Butch tries to get a good look and sure enough, Dusk’s wide dark eyes are in full view, smoldering with disapproval. She sets her helmet on the coffee table which is made of worm eaten wood, and starts in on the girl, using her name. “…Roxanne, do you have any clue, how much trouble you could be in, for even walking into this room?” The red head shrugs, her eyes darting from the Knight Captain and back to the door, which Dusk catches onto immediately. “-Don’t even think about it. You can’t out run me! You got rocks for brains? I’m a sniper…”

Butch’s looking at his surroundings a little more closely. He’s making out all kinds of machines in this indoor junkyard. He’s got no real clue what any of them are, but a part of him wouldn’t be against trying to figure it out. Roxanne, the red head, mutters at her superior rebelliously. “What? Are you going to shoot me now?” Butch’s pulling up his Pipboy, reading through the job request again, glossing over some of the finer points. _‘…We are attempting to invent a bitchin’…a brand new revolutionary way to travel by land…’_

Butch tunes out the sound of Dusk giving a surprisingly calm lecture for…well for the kind of person she is sober. “-You’re not stupid. So why are you acting like you don’t know the rules? I have to turn you into Elder Gallows for this. Then **you** are going to clean all of this up.” The girl’s voice pitches suddenly, and Butch hears desperation in her voice, that reminds him of himself. “- **Why? Why do you gotta destroy the only place that feels like home!? Don’t do this, Aunt Dusk! Don’t be a bitch!”** He’s thinking back to the vault, screaming at his mother over something. The same voice she’s got, is the same one that drove him towards rebelling against The Overseer. Butch didn’t think Dusk had any family.

The revelation’s a little surprising. For as long as he’d known her, he figured he’d have at least gotten that out of her over drinks by now. He’s shifting in his seat on the dusty metal floor, feeling a little awkward to be caught in the middle of this. When Dusk talks back, it’s not a rank issue, it’s a family dispute. “Too bad for you, I **am** a bitch! Now, march your ass up those stairs. -Be glad I’m not assigning you latrine duty!” He’s not used to hearing the woman sounding desperate.

Butch rubs the back of his neck, staring at the rusty orange beams holding up the ceiling, unsure of what he should do. When the girl starts to sob, he’s moved by it. She stomps her boot against the floor, rattling the metal. He hears what could only be described as hatred in the little girl’s voice. “I hate you **! I hate you** and I hate this place! And…and-“Dusk’s sighing, like she’s tired of arguing.

She sounds less like a Knight Captain and more like a mother on the verge of collapse. “Roxanne! What do you want me to do? Break the rules and then what? Somebody else is going to come down here eventually.” There’s a pregnant pause and something life changing wafting through the air between the two. Butch debates coming out, because none of this is really his business. Knowing what it felt like to be pushed into a corner, it didn’t matter how young you were. You’d kick and scream and punch everybody to find out what freedom tasted like.

Then that girl, Roxanne with the eerily familiar accent, shocks the hell out of him.

She’s sobbing the words of a dead language. " _Puttana! Ti odio! Ti_ **_ODIO_**!” Words that he and his Ma’ used to know. His palms fall flat on the floor and before he can stop himself, he’s scrambling to his feet. Dusk’s yelling at the kid, more with weakness than true strength. “Stop that! Stop it! You know I can’t understand what you’re saying! Do you think I like being the bad guy all the time?” Unbeknownst to Dusk, he’s up and in full view of the kid now.

When he opens his mouth, the kid’s eyes are already wide with shock. Full of shock, because for one she had no idea he’d been lurking there. For another thing, he was talking back at her with the same Ancient Italian. “ _Dove hai imparato a parlare in quell modo, ragazza? Eh?”_ Dusk’s head nearly flies off her neck with how sharply she looks back at him. It’s a lot different now that he’s actually in the conversation.

The room is full of awkward tension.

Tension from Dusk who looks like she wants to kill him for even being there at all. Tension from the dust drifting through the creaking and moaning aisles, stacked with random machine parts. The room’s thick with it and the redhead, is looking at him with uncharacteristic timidness, answering back in shocked, yet crisp Italian. _“Che cosa…?”_ Butch spares his old drinking buddy a glance, before answering the girl in English with a cheeky grin. “You heard me!” He’s gripping the back of the couch with his hands.

Leaning for support on the back of the worn mahogany leather. Dusk’s voice has turned into a screetch. “Who said you could butt in?! Matter of fact, you shouldn’t be here either!” She sounds more like a molerat who’s caught on fire. Butch gives her a nod of his head, well and truly butting in now. He begs to differ, saying as much to her. “Oh, what? Says who? You? You’re the one who let me in!”

He jerks his head, gesturing to the kid with a more serious note to his voice. “I got a job to do! Or did you forget?”

Ignoring her aunt, the girl’s brown eyes lock onto his shoulder. The girl’s expression turns into a hopeful one, as she sniffles loudly. She’s rubbing at her face with her hands, roughly trying to dry her tears. She ends up using the hem of her ratty old shirt to wipe the snot from her nose. It’s enough to make him smile, because it’s the grossest thing he’s ever seen.

Ok, not really, but it’s pretty funny.

Her voice is full of genuine excitement. “You! You’re the King Snake aren’t you? You-“She seems to wipe the stupidly huge smile off her face by force. Trying to act tough, she looks at the ground, then at him. She looks him dead in the eye, her bottom lip trembling, looking a little like a baby Brahmin calf to him. She shrugs her shoulders, shoving her hands in her pockets, before nodding her chin up at him, all business with him in her tiny shivering voice. “…You here for the job or whatever…?”

He’s getting a tickle in his side, which has laughter snorting out of him goofily.

He’s giving Dusk a smug, shit eating grin, while she’s getting a dawning understanding of the situation and can only try to begin her statement of outrage. “Oh no…Oh hell no. You have got to be shitting me-“Butch is vaulting over the couch with one hand, landing on the ground so loudly it feels like the aisles are going to start dropping machine parts all over the place. The girl jolts noticeably. Butch’s already got the letter on his Pipboy’s screen, flashing it at Dusk tauntingly. Then he’s striding over to the kid at a rapid pace, just waiting for Dusk to try and stop him.

The girl takes a step back involuntarily and he’s confused as to why, until he’s standing right in front of her. He must look like a monster to her, because her head barely comes up to his hip. Taking the hint, he kneels down, grinning from ear to ear. He’s far too entertained to be pissed off about the situation. His voice contains childish enjoyment. “You r0cky-ROAD?”

The little girl’s brow furrows. Then she takes a hand covered in grease smudges out of her jean pocket and holds it out to him to shake. Introducing herself, with moxie. “Name’s, Roxie. I got the caps if you got the skills.” Dusk’s finally pulling Butch up by his shoulders with such force it leaves him rocking on his boot heels. She’s jamming a finger into his chest, snarling at him. “Whatever pity or dumb idea you have in that empty **Vaultie** head of yours, you can walk it right back out of the front gate!”

The crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes are showing in her narrowed and livid glare

It takes Butch a moment to get his bearings, but when he does, he’s still got that shit eating grin. Using a deceptively nonchalant tone with her, he leans back, trying to get out of her grip. “Dusk! I didn’t know you had a niece!” Dusk’s voice is fringing on deadly and there’s something cold in her eyes. “Don’t act like we’re friends-“If he squints, Butch thinks she’s hiding her softer emotions. He cuts in, shrugging, trying to ignore the heavy metal hands, which are threatening to crush his shoulders. “-Awe, come on! We’re pals!”

The woman’s looking at her niece, who’s taken to shuffling her feet on the floor, stirring up dust and nudging at the drop whiskey bottle with the toe of her boot. The girl’s glaring at the ground, which makes Dusk squeeze down hard enough to make him visibly wince. He’s sweating a little at the obvious threat. She’s like a mother deathclaw, now carrying genuine danger in her tone. “We barely know each other, Deloria-“Butch’s grin slips off and a humorless expression, shows the bite lurking within his own words. “-Don’t pretend we don’t know each other.”

He’s using his fingers to forcibly tug her closer to him. He’s not afraid to defend himself, but still willing to attempt diplomacy. His lowers his voice enough, that he hopes the kid doesn’t hear him. “-If you act like that, I might forget to show up next time a **real** job gets thrown my way from Gallows.” For as much of a spit fire the woman is, she is as coldblooded and calculating as the most frightening of murders. Butch is pretty sure, he can get through to her though, because he’s not out for blood or anything like that.

His lip curls up into a sneer, his pride on the line as much as his honor. “And whose ass did I pull out of the fire? Who had your back in D.C.? How many times? Huh?” The woman’s eyes flicker to the girl beside them. She’s not catching wise to the impending fist fight and broken bones, which are close be becoming realities. Brotherhood steel was no joke. Butch knew that from firsthand experience.

When the woman’s fingers don’t let up, Butch is glancing at VATS briefly. He’s preparing for whatever comes next, talking softly to the woman, trying to avoid sounding condescending. “I carried my weight on those Aqua Pura runs. I was right there with ya.” He’d rather not fight in front of the kid, but if Dusk decides to break his collarbones, he’s definitely going to break her nose with his forehead. His armor may not be as durable as hers, but it made for up for that, with its light weight build. Speed or stealth was his specialty and close quarter combat was too.

Her face is unsure, suspicious and unreadable to him. Her voice is just the same. “This is **my** business now. Not Brotherhood business. -Family business!” Her hands finally release him, much to his own internal relief. He takes that as a que to drive his personal point home, keeping her from leaning back by holding on to the front of her chest plate. “-Yeah, well take it from your good ol’ pal, **Butch**! If you don’t throw that kid a bone, she’s gonna run _real_ far, **real** fast and not look back.” He lets go and the look in her eyes, seems to convey annoyed agreement.

The kid pipes up again, annoyed with being ignored. “Why’re you guys whispering like I’m not standing right here?” Dusk turns to her niece, with a contemplative look. Before she can act on anything or say anything, Butch sidles up next to her niece again. Once more, he’s kneeling down, trying to not-so-subtly lighten the mood. “Nice jacket, Red! Where’d you get it?” The girl’s got freckles on her face and all over her tiny pale hands.

He thinks he’s getting deja-vu, watching her touching at the sleeve of it. Her expression is filled with an obvious attachment to the piece. It reminds him of himself. She flicks up the collar of her jacket, looking past his shoulder. He thinks she looks like she’s thinking of something really sad all of a sudden, her voice sounding a little like Dusk’s in the moment. “…My Ma’ gave it to me…”

* * *

The sun has crawled across the Wasteland sky, nearing the point where dusk becomes night. Butch’s long aching legs somehow carry him back home diligently, the events of the day, settling inside his head alongside the song of crickets. The honk of radgeese flying into the Potomac, add to the fading daylight, Megaton’s shape steadily forming over the horizon. He’d managed to not only solve Knight Captain Dusk’s personal issues, but postponed the inevitable mass exodus of the frustrated Brotherhood ranks as well. If the Captain could convince Elder Gallows and Star Paladin Cross, that archaic tech was still needed to be appreciated for far more sentimental reasons, then maybe it would give them something to focus on.

In the end, they had talked for hours in that basement hanger. He liked Roxie a lot! The kid was mouthy, stubborn and a smart-aleck. She told him that he wasn’t supposed to meet her in The Citadel and that she’d rigged up the signal like she had for a **reason**. Dusk had cooled off and basically, sat down for long enough to be convinced that Roxanne was on the verge of running away for good.

The job and the blueprints Roxie had found, were for an old bike. A machine he’d seen in plenty of movies growing up in the vault. A motorcycle. A means to take her far away from her bossy Aunt and the rigorously strict lifestyle of the Brotherhood.

The kid lost her mother 2 years ago in a raid. She wasn’t “born Brotherhood” like the other Squires and her Aunt had stepped on a few toes just to take her in. Seems like her mother, Dusk’s younger sister, had been a Scribe, who was sick of the Brotherhood’s philosophes as well. She didn’t know who her dad was, but he’d apparently stayed with The West chapter, adding to the kid’s disgust for The BOS, fueling the fire burning in her. The kid seemed to talk to him too easily, which pissed Dusk off to no end.

The kid’s mother liked dead languages and Italian just happened to be her favorite. For all of Dusk’s bad temper, bad habits, and bad attitude, she had a good heart. She loved her niece. She tolerated Butch. So after a long talk, he still had himself a job.

The breeze blows a random stench into his nose, which has him coughing, waving his hand in front of his nose and complaining to himself. “Geez, how do people breathe out here?” Being in The Citadel had been suffocating enough as it was. He definitely felt his skin crawl when surrounded by too much order. He enjoyed freedom and appreciated it a little more than the average guy. He’d considered staying the night, but thought better of it.

It was only a matter of time before The Brotherhood broke apart or brokered peace within themselves. Either way, the common man was bound to get screwed out of dealing with them. So with a bubble of sheer joy, Butch looked forward to getting his hands on the parts for the intriguing blueprints. His Pipboy chimes with a distinct sound that adds to his racing heart. A new message that reads:

LONE-ang3l: Are you still there?

He’s grinning from ear to ear, checking his HUD for red dots, before taking the time to reply.

KING-SN3K: yup

He’s watching the little squares on the bottom right of the screen flickering. The same ones which pop up every time anyone’s writing. He’s laughing at her response.

LONE-ang3l: How do I know this is you?”

Rolling his eyes, he looks up to see the lights of Megaton about a mile off, the sunset falling over to his left. He narrowly avoids tripping over a sudden dip in the ground, his eyes hooked to his Pipboy. He’s walking and typing up something he hopes will bother her.

KING-SN3K: i stole ur sweetroll on ur 10th birthday,

KING-SN3K: good enuff 4 ya?

LONE-ang3l: …Why do you write like that? I know you’re not illiterate.”

KING-SN3K: Cuz you can’t stand it.

KING-SN3K: ;)

The walls of Megaton are close and he can’t stop smiling. The blueprints were promising and he was itching to get started on scavenging the parts for them. If everything went well on Dusk’s end, The Brotherhood was going to willingly give him a lot of what he already needed. Things were about to get very interesting around town! Another message pops up from a different screenname, leaving him a littler perplexed.

r0cky-ROAD: Aunt Dusk said that I could keep the terminal. Whatever you said to her, seemed to make her less holier-than-thou.

r0cky-ROAD: _Grazie_.

He sees the message and chuckles, replying.

KING-SN3K: _Tunnel Snakes, fai il lavoro._

KING-SN3K: _Su questo non ci piove!_

r0cky-ROAD: …there’s not much rain anywhere. What’s that even mean?

KING-SN3K: _Solo una vecchia espressione._

KING-SN3K: Don’t think I’m helping you run away either!

r0cky-ROAD: _Che diavolo?_ What am I paying you for then?

He’s in the middle of a sentence, when a savage squeak startles him over to the right. He looks at his HUD and low behold, he sees red. He looks up in time to see a big pink molerat barreling right for him. It’s gaining on him fast, but he’s faster. With a truly put off shake of his head, he drops his arm, un-holsters the silenced 44. on his hip and with a flourish, he fires.

The creature slides to his feet, dead and bloodied. He mutters to himself, swallowing thickly, feeling thirsty, standing a few yards away from Megaton’s walls. “…dirty rat.” He nudges the body with his boot, typing a quick reply with his pinkie finger.

KING-SN3K: You’re not! And lay off your aunt wouldja, Red?

KING-SN3K: She’s unhappy enough with me as it is!

He wasn’t about to let the kid run off. He saw the way Dusk was watching her while she talked and he’d be damned, if she blamed him for losing the only family the woman probably had. He remembers stepping out on his own mother, both regretting it and yet, unable to say that’d he change his choices. Plus, he didn’t want a pissed off Lyons’ Sniper stalking him to his grave. He’s lifting up the molerat, already planning to use it for stew, and rounding the corner to the gate of Megaton without looking, trying to end the conversation on his Pipboy.

KING-SN3K: _Arrivederci! Sogni d’oro!_ Just go to sleep already!

r0cky-ROAD: You’re still building it right?

KING-SN3K: _Che palle! Basta!_ Just cuz I’m building it, doesn’t mean you’re getting one.

r0cky-ROAD: Does so! You promised! _Bugiardo! Dai!_

KING-SN3K: Go tell it to your aunt! If she says ok I’ll consider it.

KING-SN3K: _Ma nessuna promessa._

r0cky-ROAD: _L’hai fatto anche tu! Mi hai promesso!_

His brows are furrowed and the kid’s getting on his nerves a little. When he bumps head first into the closed gate, it startles him into cursing. “Woah, awe damn! What’s this doing closed?” He pats the door with his palms and turns to Deputy Weld, barking at the Protectron tiredly. “Come on, Weld! Open up! I’m sick of seeing closed gates today!” He sucks his teeth, looking at his Pipboy with a billion thoughts running through his mind. He writes one last line, before muting the chat, as the gate rises.

KING-SN3K: Yeah? Well, like I said before. _Portalo con tua zia!_

As he walks into his home town, a sense of relaxation, fills his bones. His back hurts and his shoulders slump underneath the weight of the dead molerat. It had been a very long time since he’d spoken Italian. He hadn’t realized that he missed speaking the language with somebody fluent. He hadn’t really brought it up with Evangeline often, mostly because he’d been avoiding it.

Not the subject of teaching her or using it around her, but the language all together. It brought back memories of his Ma’ and worse. It reminded him of his father. He’d never known the man, but each time his mother had sat him down at the kitchen table and pulled out the books to teach him, she would always tell him the same story. He’s shoving the memories out of his mind, looking forward to seeing the last good thing, the vault had left for him.

Angie was going to lose it when he showed her the absolute **treasure** he’d brought home with him.

The blueprints.

Not the molerat.

* * *

**2 months later**

The ice cold Nuka-Cola bottle dangles in her fingers loosely, the condensation dripping down her knuckles, falling onto the couch slowly, while she rests her eyes for a moment. The cushions are like a pile of feathers beneath her stiff bones. An open hard back book, sits perched around her knee, the plain blue black spine facing the ceiling of her Megaton house. She hears the faucet dripping from the kitchen sink in front of her.

Butch has been so busy with that machine, that he hasn’t bothered fixing anything else around the house for months. It’s not that she couldn’t do it herself, but things had been really busy lately. The Brotherhood was becoming less and less of a presence around D.C. and with their withdrawal, there was only one name people seemed to call for. Well, two names really, but Butch hadn’t wanted to give up on the bike, till it was finished. The only thing the man would stop for, was either for a haircut or if she wanted to make out with him.

Needless to say, he rarely got an excuse, which he deemed important enough to stop working.

It had been about 3 months since she’d first kissed him. Kissing is his favorite thing to do, when he’s not talking her ear off about what kind of chassis he was going to need. The flirting had gotten worse too. He was pushy at times, but more cuddly than anything. She wasn’t sure if she was ready for the next step beyond… whatever they were now.

She takes a deep breath, lifting the sweet sugary drink to her lips to take a swig. The summer heat was at its worst today and yet, he was still outside in front of their house, working on that junk pile, which he was calling a motorcycle. It was a fun project for her too. At first. She swallows some of her soda down the wrong pipe and ends up choking on it.

Jerking forward, she spills some of it onto the rug, which is covering the wooden floor boards beneath her. Her bare feet slide off the coffee table and onto the rug, the book falling shut into her lap, making her lose her place. She catches her breath, annoyed, mumbling half-heartedly. “Damn it…” He was so caught up in his work, that he’d been less attentive. In short, she was beginning to become jealous of his new hobby.

A knock at the door, leaves her groaning with disappointment. She was thankful for it all the same. She didn’t like thinking about how needy she had become all of a sudden. They called her _Lone_ Wanderer for a reason. She used to enjoy being alone.

She glances over at Dogmeat, who happens to be lazing about on the kitchen tile, thinking wryly to herself. _‘Well, mostly alone…’_

Hopping off of the couch, she figures it isn’t Butch, because he doesn’t knock. She pads over to the hallway on her left, the front door now right in front of her face. She reaches towards the gun locker at the left of the door, swiping a 10mm off it just in case and barking at whoever’s disturbing her peaceful afternoon. “Who is it? What are you banging so loudly about?” A strange woman’s voice, all business and bored, answers back. “Courier, Mam! I’ve got a letter here addressed to you.” Now that wasn’t surprising.

She’d been getting letters for ages. Mostly requests for help. Even with the long-distance forum setup, not everybody could afford to have access to a terminal. Some people were just plain suspicious of Brotherhood tech. With the Wasteland slowly falling apart without them, or so it seemed, she had a whole stack of requests to get through, which was sitting in her workshop beside the kitchen.

She opens the door in nothing by her old pink pj’s, finding an older woman standing there, holding a letter out. She takes it with a nod, watching the lady walk away. She spots Butch ahead of her, on his knees beside a seemingly fully repaired motorcycle. He’s shirtless, sweating and covered in grease, tightening something on the gear box. Something burns inside of her chest, tasting a little bitter, making her lash out at him with a frown. “You couldn’t have stopped her, Deloria?”

He’s in his favorite pair of loose fit jeans, hair slicked up perfect into a pompadour, staying slick even with all the sweat dripping down his back. He looks up from glaring at the gears, seemingly just noticing her there, he responds like he didn’t hear her. “What? Huh? Oh, hey there, Bookworm! How’s that book coming along?” She scoffs at him, looking away and down at the roof of the Brass Lantern instead, feeling like starting something without a good reason. “-Don’t pretend like you really want to know.” He’s breathing hard and wiping his forehead with his arm, not catching on to her bad temper, he’s grinning at her, lighthearted in his tone. “Alright, Alright! You caught me. Couldn’t care less!” She turns to snap at him, but he’s getting to his feet and the anger gets sucked right out of her.

He is built like a sleek, pretty animal and glistening with sweat, looking too stupidly handsome for his own good. His belly is nothing but a long expanse of rock hard muscle and his arms are huge, flexing before her, as he cleans off his wrench with the dirty rag in his back pocket. He’s talking excitedly and she’s staring, but he’s totally oblivious to the dirty thoughts rushing into her head. “Man! Man oh, **man!** It’s finally ready! It’s a work of art I tell you! I’m a damn genius! A masterpiece!” He’s giggling and it’s too cute. She’s swallowing her enraging desires, angry at him and not really knowing why. “That’s what you’ve been saying to me for a week. It’s getting old.” 

He looks up at her, carrying on about the bike, still grinning too big and charming, with those too white teeth of his. “It was the fuel tubes! Needed new rubber! Spent the whole night cooking some up! Ended up making new treads for the tires too!” She’s tracing the outline of his hips, noting the dark trail of hair disappearing beneath that threadbare waistband, complaining at him. “I really don’t care anymore about this childish project of yours. It’s not like you’ve even let me near it. Why should I care?” He shoves the dirty rag back in his pocket, his face falling, like he finally caught on to the genuine rage brewing within her. He has the nerve to sound innocent. “What are you talking about? I asked you what metal I should use to restore the frame right? That was just the other day!” She’s searching his eyes, having to face the facts.

She was jealous of that damn bike.

The heat rushes to her face, because she wants to kill him and kiss him at the same time. It’s not even the big, loveable goof’s fault. She’s glaring at him, arguing just for the sake of arguing. “All you do lately is talk about that thing! I get it! It’s impressive alright? Would it kill you to include me a little?” She watches him looking confused, scratching the back of his head, like she’s grown an extra one. Then the idiot manages to be sincere and level headed, still looking at her when he speaks up. “…What are you feeling so left out for? If you want to help me tighten the gears, I got an extra wrench!”

Her inner child rears its ugly head, in the childish way she rolls her eyes, crosses her arms, and talks back to him. “Take your wrench and shove it, Butch.” She’d been able to look him in the eyes for as long as he’d able to keep looking clueless. Then something a lot like mischief flickers to life in those dark baby blues of his. A toothy smile, a chuckle, and a stupidly accurate statement from him, leaves her staring at her toes. “You…you’re not jealous of it or something?” She feels like hitting him or crawling under a rock and dying.

She’s never felt this way about any one before. His voice is full of smug laughter. “Are you?” She turns tail and tries reaching for the door handle, crushing the letter in her other hand. She feels her heart pounding and she’s shocked by how fast he’s gotten. He bolts over to her and has her trapped against the wall beside the front door, before she can say that he’s wrong. She turns around with her back against the metal, trapped between two large arms and a boyish smile.

He smells like grease, sweat, and something spicy. Cut and sharpened, his muscles gleam like a diamond mine under the sun. She looks up at him, glaring, her face red and her voice betraying the truth. “Oh you’d like that wouldn’t you? You, Grease Monkey!” He’s snickering and pinning her up like when they were kids, his voice mercilessly pleased with himself. “You are! You totally are!” She makes the mistake of planting her hands on his chest to push him.

Her glare vanishes and a whimper escapes her, because he’s hot, slick, and attractive under her palms. He catches the sound in his ear like a filthy prayer that goes straight to his- He leans down to brush his lips against her ear, serious and full of charmed affection. “You want my attention, huh? You got it…” She’s swallowing thickly and surrendering reluctantly. Her hands form over the shape of his pecs, fingers splayed wide, enticed by the heat and the hot blooded life flowing in the man’s blood. She turns her head and whispers the words, hoping they’re too quiet to hear. “Will you make fun of me if I… a-admit that it’s been getting on my nerves a little?” He leans back like she slapped him.

Her expression is uneasy, flushed, looking up at him for his approval. It’s not something he’s used to. It leaves him blushing, shy. His smile’s gone and his voice is full of overwhelming endearment. “You... –When’d you start being like that with me…?” He’s biting his lip and turning her mouth up against his breathing the words out genuinely, a lack of confidence in them betraying the sincerity behind them. “You’re being too cute… When did you get like that…?”

He kisses her sweetly, the compliment warming her heart so much that it scares her. It’s a brief kiss. Gentle. Soft. When he pulls back, his eyes are dark and dancing with something new.

She shrugs, feeling overheated and her hands are drifting lower, while she succumbs to the uncomfortable, yet pleasant emotions playing with her heart and body. She speaks up, noticing the way his stomach flexes, when she places her thumbs on his hip bones. “You bring out the worst in me I guess?” He’s sighing, groaning in a strained and slow way, that betrays what her hands are doing to him. His voice is full of secret lusts that aren’t exactly all that hidden. “Didn’t mean to make you feel left out… “He’s pulling her against his slick body and she’s laughing at him, unaffected by the sweat on his skin.

He’s practically swaying, trying to say it nonchalantly, like it’s nothing. “…It’s not like I don’t think about you a lot. My fellow Tunnel Snake! After all!” The way his voice dips low on it, gives her the impression that it’s definitely not just a passing statement. “…You’re my girl.” She’s hugging him back, drunk on the feeling of his body against hers, saying it like she’s lost in the moment. “…Am I?” He’s letting her go a little fast and when she sees his face, he’s shaken.

She’s looking at him, feeling too much like he’s become the center of her world. She’s changing the subject, with an uncomfortable smile. “So how about that bike, huh?” He blinks, his hands still on her shoulders lightly. Whether he took the hint or is just that quick to fall back in love with the machine, she’s unsure, but he’s grinning and tugging her over to it by her wrist, chattering at her again. “Oh yeah! Oh, this baby’s gonna be like a- a lightning bolt on the ground! Come here! You gotta see it!” He lets go of her wrist and she watches him, grinning at how easily he managed to tame her heart again.

Loving him felt too easy. Like an itchy sweater, that just seemed to turn into silk the longer you wore it. She bites her lip watching him mount the thing like a natural. She butts in with genuine concern and the other part of her that just wants to tease him a little. “Do you even know how to ride that thing?” His answer disturbs her a little, spoken like an afterthought, while he fiddles with his Pipboy. “I’ll figure it out! Can’t be that hard right?”

She crosses her arms, unconvinced. He starts talking into his Pipboy, recording the moment for history it seemed. “Alright, start attempt #376! Let’s hit the gas!” She feels her heart quicken a little bit, while he flicks on the dials and the lights on the dash turn bright. He looks good on it and it bugs her a little. He looks up at her with a grim expression, which seems to fill her with anticipation.

When he goes to rev the engine, it’s the moment that he’s been working for, for 3 months straight.

The engine roars to life, startling her. It’s alive. It’s loud. It’s rumbling between his legs like a monster. He looks up at her with disbelief, like he can’t believe it himself.

He’s laughing and screaming, drawing some settler’s up from the center of town to gawk at him. “I DID IT! I FINALY DID IT! It’s…its ALIVE!!” She’s grinning, unable to help herself, she’s cheering for him. “You really did! You got it working!” There’s a crowd gathering, murmuring to themselves, which quickly turns into audible clapping. Sheriff Simms finds his way through the people, stopping just in time to watch Butch flip up the kickstand. The man tips his hat, to the young man, an old fire of youth shimmering in the mayor’s eyes. “Hot damn, son! Looks like you got yourself a genuine Metal Horse!”

Butch, is so caught up in the moment, that he doesn’t really hear the man. He’s muttering to himself, blood pumping through his veins and adrenaline coursing through him. “Alright…ok…so… you just rev the handle, take off the break and-“No sooner do the words leave his mouth, does that bike leave with him on it, faster than he can keep from stopping it. He’s moving so fast, that the walls are a blur, screaming like the devils on his heels already lapping the wall. “HOOOOOLYYYYYY SHIIIIIIIIIT!” Lucas calls up to the guards atop the gate, bellowing at them loudly. “THE GATE! OPEN THAT DAMNED GATE!”

Dirt and rocks and debris are kicking up under the wheels, shredding into the walls and Butch is holding on for dear life at this point. Angie’s running after him barefoot, watching with her heart in her throat and panic all over her face. They’re hauling the gate up as fast as they can and Butch is trying to turn the handles. He’s not even sure how he’s still upright, but he is! He’s really flying too!

It’s terrifying and he is out of the gate, in tears and begging the stupid thing to stop. He’s already in Springvale going 40 MPH and he’s pretty sure the road’s about to end. He’s having to think on his feet, with impending death speeding by him and he’s hit with the notion, that he should probably stop revving the engine. He lets up on it and slowly, the speedometer starts to fall. 35…20…15- He’s on sand now and it quickly dawns on him, that sand is a lot harder to stay up right on.

Today was the first time he’d ever ridden a motorcycle.

It was also the first day he’d ever crashed a motorcycle.

About 20 minutes go by after the crash, with him flat on his back, dazed and just grinning at the sky. The bike is on its side, turned over, but mostly intact from what he can see. He hears huffing and puffing, that sounds a lot like The Lone Wanderer’s voice. “Butch…BUTCH! What were you thinking? Are you alive? BUTCH!” He’s laughing, hysterical and sitting up to look at her, barefoot and in pink silk pajamas.

She looks ridiculous.

He tries to reassure her that he’s fine, while being utterly full of joy. “It’s amazing! Angel, it’s- Awe, you gotta try it!” He watches her foot catch something sharp under her foot, hears her cry out over it. She’s on her knees beside him, glaring daggers. She punches him in the shoulder. Hard.

It steals the joy right out of him, looking at her like she’s being unreasonable. “Ow! Hey! What’re you hitting me for?” She’s got her arms around his neck and holding onto him like he’ll float away. The change in her emotions gives him whiplash, hearing her crying and scolding him. “You could have killed yourself! You- you scared me to death!” He swallows, feeling a little sheepish and a little sore from his minor tumble. He pulls her into his lap and holds her, grumbling out a poor effort to comfort her. “Hey, come on… not that a big deal… ‘m fine aren’t I?”

She squeezes him tighter without a reply. They sit like there attached for a bit, with him covered in scrapes, bruises, and sand, bare chested. She starts to let go and he looks at the bottoms of her feet, smiling softly, teasing her. “…what were you thinking? Running after me barefoot?” She sniffles, giving him a dirty look. She gets up, the smell of motor oil in the air and the sound of gravel, falling off her body.

She offers him a hand, with a secret blush and a familiar retort. “What? You’ve never forgotten to put your boots back on before?”

* * *

2 whole weeks go by and the thing is as dangerous, as it is absolutely amazing! He finally manages to get the hang of it and boy, is the thing fast! He stays out late just to ride it and she’s usually on the back of it with him. He refuses to let her drive it and it bugs her, but not enough to press the issue. He’d worked his tail off to make it run, so she could respect that.

For a while at least.

Butch had made it clear to The Brotherhood that he was still “testing” the vehicle out. She had a feeling, that was a lie and he hadn’t corrected her on that. Butch had kept in touch with Dusk over the forum and according to her, allowing Roxie to keep the garage had helped mend a few broken bridges between them. Artemis had finally left for The Outcasts and needless to say, quite of few of the lower ranks went with him. They’d lost quite a few of their numbers, but at least they were no longer divided about what their priorities were.

Lyons’ Reformations still lived on and peace had been brokered, by The Brotherhood being broken apart, at least for the moment.

The letter she’d received was regarding a new raider encampment that had popped up seemingly overnight. It wasn’t as large an undertaking as that last Liberation mission they’d taken part in, so there wasn’t as much planning needed. It was as they both stood on the edge of town together after a good long ride, sun setting orange and red behind them, that she had a wonderful idea. Devious excitement curled its way into her chest.

She could be brutal when the need arose. Remorse was for the innocent and these raiders, had been reported for heinous acts against nature and humanity alike. There were times when war became an art to her and those times, were what frightened her about herself at times. She leans over to Butch, dragging her hand across the seat of the motorcycle with an oddly savage kind of affection for it. She turns to him grinning with terrible ideas. “…Do you think we could rig up a Stealth Boy to this?”

* * *

The encampment was made up of about 20 men and women, all of them covered in blood, guts, or dirt. Bodies were strung up on poles and those of them who weren’t cackling about torturing an unlucky settler, were stabbing their cheating friends in the back at the dog fighting pit. It was a fairly open Raider encampment, no walls and no real defenses. So, needless to say, their approach was not subtle nor was it unnoticed. One skinny filthy man, missing most of his teeth, turns to his buddy at their guard post. “Heyo, Ricky! Yo Rick! Do you hear the ground shaking? Is that thunder?”

Not a cloud in the sky.

The other guy, another man decked out in Raider leather, turns to call his friend crazy. He doesn’t have time to say it though, because there is a mighty roar coming from the East. The sound is beastly, like a creature that’s as big as a behemoth, or so it sounds. It’s getting closer and it’s enough to make everyone scramble, men and women coming out of their tents to see what it is. They’re all watching the horizon, the land around them flat and open.

Ricky is the first to see it. “The fuck is that?” An object, moving at about 50 MPH is sailing over the dirt, a giant dust cloud trailing behind it in its wake. When they finally make out what it is, they’re all laughing, because it looks like 2 whack-job’s on a weird bicycle. Their leader comes out and motions for them to hold, mocking them, when they stop in front of them. “Get a load of this shit!” The two are outnumbered 10 to 1 and the Raider’s know it.

Angel sits on the back of the motorcycle with her breath in Butch’s ear, the heat of her body somehow sinking into him through their collective leather armor. The rush of it all, is like a drug. He can feel her standing up on the back and knowing what’s coming, feeling the uproar of mockery around him, he grins with an arrogant sneer. One of the raider’s pipes up, still giggling to herself. “You clowns wanna die or something?” Angie gives him the word, cool and collected, giving him chills. “Hit it.”

He’s screaming his battle cry, before the slaughter, his thumb ready to flick on the Stealth Boy. “LET’S RUMBLE! YEAH!” Woosh. The bike’s gone. The Raider’s start to quiet down, confusion in their ranks. When Butch disappears next, Angie’s the only one left standing, floating in midair and the Raider masses, begin to fill with slight unease.

One of them shouts. “Where’d he go?” Another screams. “SHE’S FLYING!” The Lone Wanderer smiles, whips out her shot gun, and she too vanishes. Everything is still and the Raiders aren’t moving from where they’re standing. Ricky’s turning to his partner amongst the crowd, murmuring with savage paranoia. “Something ain’t right here…”

There’s whispering and the laughter has ceased. When that violent roar startles the lot of them, they all start firing in the direction of it blindly. The dust cloud is everywhere now, without any point of origin. The Raider in charge bellows. “ALL OF YOU! GET IN FORMATION! WE’RE NOT GONNA-“He’s the first to die when her shot gun fires and hits its mark.

One Raider after the other, loses their head. One head shot after the other, her aim tried and true. The roar of the beast is so loud, that it now sounds as if it’s coming from everywhere. It’s a bloodbath. The smart ones take off running, but can’t out run them.

They set the dogs on them at one point, but they end up being too scared of the noise to do anything but run. When it’s all done, the ground is full of bullets and bodies. Too many to even loot. The whole ordeal was entirely too easy and left her feeling oddly dissatisfied. She resolved to find a bigger camp one day.

The inevitable guilt of easy murder sets in and she shoves it down deep. She tries to remind herself, that these men deserved it. The words come to her, sounding a lot like Butch’s voice in her head oddly enough. He’s not feeling guilty at all, just high on the thrill of a good fight and a killer strategy. He’s steering them up a nice hillside for a rest soon after.

This should have taken them at least a day and a half to get to, but here they were in about an hour’s time. The only downside, was that the bike was loud. And that it attracted everything in about a mile radius. It was good for jobs that didn’t require stealth or diplomacy. The Wasteland burns under the sun, while they sit on the hilltop, legs crossed, a bottle of Rattle Snake Whiskey being passed between them.

She looks at her partner, her friend, her… guy? He’s taking a drink, looking tired and satisfied with himself. She reaches for the bottle and he gives it up, as she asks him a question. “Aren’t you supposed to give this back to The Brotherhood?” Butch, predictably laughs like he’s heard the funniest joke that he’s heard, in a very long. Then he shrugs, watching a wild Brahmin drinking from a watering hole in the distance, answering her. “They will pry it out of my cold, dead fingers.”

She laughs, while he pounds his chest and then points to the bike resting behind them. “That one is MINE!” It goes quiet between them then. The calm after the war. She takes a generous drag of the bottle, feeling it hitting her a little. The buzz takes away the guilt, the ache in her body, and the pesky worries floating around in her mind.

He’s speaking up again, sounding a little tipsy himself. “Give her up! The very idea…what’s that old sayin’?” She glances over and sees him scrunching up his face, like he’s thinking too hard. It makes her smile, when he snaps his fingers and finds the words. “When pigs fly!” Nodding to her and to himself, resting his hand back on his leather clad knee. “Yeah, that’s when!” She’s looking behind her, gesturing to the bike with her free hand, grinning. “I mean, you already have one behind you.”

She’s not sure she’s making sense, especially when he gives her a funny look and questions her. “What?” He turns around comically, definitely more than a little tipsy. “Where?” The man’s endearing in a lot of ways. Honest. Smart even.

She turns to watch the Brahmin herd, which has come out of hiding to drink. Ignoring him, she’s swirling the whiskey in the bottle, mumbling to him. “Something impossible. A flying pig.” She looks at him and he’s still looking at her funny. She gives him a lopsided grin, shrugging and making a joke. “…or at the very least, an invisible hog.” He shakes his head at her, turning his body toward her, about to question her again. “A what…?”

When he looks back at his “hog” it dawns on him. He snorts, thinking that she’s kind of a dork, kind of adoring her for it. “Oh real funny. Point is. The first one’s mine.” She liked drinking with him. Being with him. Her smile falter’s when what he said registers with her. “You’re going to make more?”

Like a boy with a new gun, he’s got his hands on her shoulders and an opportunist gleam in his eyes, which she finds a bit too handsome on him. “ **We** are gonna make caps hand over fist!” She can’t believe how much she loves him. She’s putting a cap on the whiskey, setting it aside and pulling him in for a quick kiss. He’s a little surprised by it, but always willing. Before he can turn it into something deeper, she’s pulled away and shuffled closer, till his arm’s around her.

She thinks the Whiskey’s too strong, as she feels him leaning against her more heavily.

Her voice is a quiet murmur in the wind. “As long as it helps people get by…”

She’s mumbling a quiet, secret goal of hers, leaving him holding her just a fraction tighter. “…I’m really trying to be braver for you, you know…”

* * *

  
He’s sitting in front of the gate to The Citadel again, pissed off and typing away on his Pipboy.

KING-SN3K: _Dai! Dai!_ How long are you going to be mad?

r0cky-ROAD: Get lost.

For the most part, Butch liked kids. In fact, after meeting so many of them whether in Little Lamplight or elsewhere, he found out he almost understood the average kid, better than the average adult. Maybe because he was a kid at heart himself. There were a few, who got on his nerves enough to make him want to rip his own ears off though. He’d found another one.

The ride over had been a breeze, but it was the guilt that was pissing him off and leaving him fed up.

KING-SN3K: It ain’t my fault your aunt said no!

There’s no response and it feels like a slap to the face.

KING-SN3K: I am this close, to coming in there and dragging you out by your dumb hair.

r0cky-ROAD: Aunt Dusk’ll shoot you

KING-SN3K: She’ll shoot me anyway!

KING-SN3K: I got a surprise!

KING-SN3K: Hey, look! I’m real sorry, Red.

KING-SN3K: Don’t you want Uncle Butch’s super cool, awesome present or not?

R0cky-ROAD: We only met once and you’re not my uncle.

R0cky-ROAD: You forgot I even existed anyway!

Butch’s heart sinks a little. He liked the kid well enough, but he’d been too busy to visit the Citadel. By busy, he meant riding all over the Wasteland with The Lone Wanderer wrapped around his waist. Sure, he only met her once, but he’d kept in touch with both her and Dusk on the forums. Kind of.

He hadn’t forgotten her! She was like the little sister he’d never had! So what if he wasn’t allowed to give her the bike he was sitting on? Like hell he would, even if he could! Dusk wasn’t the only one who didn’t think the thing wasn’t safe for a 14 year old.

He wasn’t going to lose “cool” points by telling Red that though.

KING-SN3K: Your aunt told me to come by.

KING-SN3K: Here I am!

KING-SN3K: So get out here and quite complaining!

KING-SN3K: I didn’t forget ya, alright, kid?

Dusk had opened up to him a lot more about more personal aspects of her life, after his advice went over so well the first time. He owed her for a lot. Without her intervention, he wouldn’t have been able to get ahold of all the parts for the beast he was sitting on right now. Now he’d somehow become a babysitter and the baby, was being a little too fussy for his liking. He sighs and tries to apologize again, wondering when he got to be such a pushover.

KING-SN3K: _Perdonami. Per favore._

Its women. Big women or little women, the fairer sex had become his undoing. He started going soft with Evangeline and now **this** Pipsqueak, had him bending over backwards apologizing every way till Sunday. It’s about 20 minutes of silent, agony. Waiting.

He thinks about telling Dusk to deal with the kid herself, when low and behold, the gate starts to rise.

There she comes, looking downright puny compared to the door, that she’s leaving out of. It makes him smile to himself, chuckling under his breath. “Little Pipsqueak…” He catches himself grinning too big and when she sees the bike under him, her sour face lights right up like its Christmas. She’s racing over, attempting to grab the handles, having the balls to ask him, “Can I drive-“Which moves him to gently hit her on the back of the head, getting a little bent out of shape. “-No you cannot! And what do we say when somebody does you a favor! Huh?”

She’s scowling at him rubbing the back of her tender head. “Shut up and let’s go already?” He clicks his tongue at her, reaching around his body to pull a red helmet from the saddlebag, scowling right back down at her. “ _Che palle…_ How about a thank you! Now shove this on, before I change my mind.” All the bridges have truly been mended it seems, as she snatches the helmet and shoves it on. She’s behind him now, leaning back, and mouthing off. “You’re not gonna change your mind…” He’s trying to hide his smile, flicking the engine on and trying to sound mature. “Ok now look. Hold onto me tight, don’t lean back, and whatever you do…”

He pauses, glancing towards the Citadel’s walls as it slides shut, carrying on. “…don’t tell your aunt.”

When he revs the engine, he feels two surprisingly strong, thin arms clutch his waist.

Grinning to himself, he yells over the engine. “If she asks, tell her I taught you how to sew!”

Then with a squeal and a cloud of dust, he’s making one little girl’s dreams come true.

His own had already come true, the moment he’d first learned what freedom tasted like.

**The End**

**Author's Note:**

> A lot of the Italian is from Google Translate, so if the verbiage is awkward or off, I am just letting you know that I do NOT speak Italian. XD However, if you'd like to know what they're saying, I will put a translation into the story, just under...well right here. The italics here are the English versions of what is being said (I think. Once again, Google Translate is awful):
> 
> She’s sobbing the words of a dead language. "You bitch! I hate you! I HATE you!”
> 
> he was talking back at her with the same Ancient Italian. “Where'd you learn to talk like that kid? Eh?”
> 
> The room’s thick with it and the redhead, is looking at him with uncharacteristic timidness, answering back in shocked, yet crisp Italian. “What…?”
> 
> r0cky-ROAD: Thank you.
> 
> KING-SN3K: Tunnel Snakes,do the job.
> 
> KING-SN3K: It doesn’t rain on this! (Apparently this is an old Italian saying that’s the equivalent of “No doubt about it” )
> 
> r0cky-ROAD: …there’s not much rain anywhere. What’s that even mean?
> 
> KING-SN3K: Just an old expression.
> 
> KING-SN3K: Don’t think I’m helping you run away either!
> 
> r0cky-ROAD: What the hell? What am I paying you for then?
> 
> KING-SN3K: Goodbye! Sweet Dreams! Just go to sleep already!
> 
> r0cky-ROAD: You’re still building it right?
> 
> KING-SN3K: What balls! That’s enough! Just cuz I’m building it, doesn’t mean you’re getting one.
> 
> r0cky-ROAD: Does so! You promised! Liar! Come on!
> 
> KING-SN3K: Go tell it to your aunt! If she says ok I’ll consider it.
> 
> KING-SN3K: But no promises.
> 
> r0cky-ROAD: You did too! You promised!
> 
> KING-SN3K: Yeah? Well, like I said before. Take it up with your aunt!
> 
> KING-SN3K: Come on! Come on! How long are you going to be mad?
> 
> KING-SN3K: Forgive me. Please.


End file.
